


Busted

by wickedthoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Just Ball Torture), (Not Penetrative Rape), Also Bucky pisses himself from pain, Begging, Broken Bucky Barnes, Bucky says Hail Hydra, Castration, Chains, Cissexism, Cock & Ball Torture, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Genital Torture, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt No Comfort, It's just after Bucky fell from the train and Hydra is trying to break him, M/M, Men Crying, POV Outsider, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Power Dynamics, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Scars, Stubborn Bucky Barnes, Torture, Vomiting, ball busting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedthoughts/pseuds/wickedthoughts
Summary: Hydra might not like the Emissary, or what he does, but they can't argue with his results.(Or, Bucky gets his balls busted by a mysterious sadist until he does what Hydra wants).





	Busted

**Author's Note:**

> For a [hydratrashmeme](https://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/2807.html?thread=6449911#cmt6449911) prompt.
> 
> This prompt obliterated my writer's block, so big thank you to the OP!
> 
> This story is pretty brutal. Please mind the tags/warnings

* * *

 

The Emissary smiled to see the prisoner was already strung up naked and waiting for him when he entered the room. He was good at what he did, and Hydra knew it. They always accommodated him in whatever he asked. They might not like him, or his methods, but they couldn’t argue with his results.

This prisoner only had one intact arm. It was held aloft by a chain dangling from the ceiling secured to a cuff on his wrist. A contraption made from thick leather was fastened around his chest, slung beneath his armpits and secured by another chain from the ceiling that connected behind the stump of his left arm. The chains kept the prisoner’s body uncomfortably stretched out, forcing him up onto the balls of his feet. There were also heavy weights attached to both of his ankles, to keep his legs slightly spread and to prevent him from kicking. The Emissary let his attention rest where he most wanted; where the prisoner’s soft, vulnerable genitals dangled in a nest of dark hair. His penis was uncircumcised and nothing special in size, but his ample balls hung low in their sac between his thighs, encouraged by how warm the room was, per the Emissary’s specifications.

The Emissary licked his lips, feeling his cock stirring in his pants, but he didn’t dwell on the objects of his interest. His eyes moved up the prisoner’s muscular body, noting how hairy the man was all over. He did take a moment to linger on where the prisoner’s stump ended a few inches above where his elbow should be. It didn’t look as if it had been surgically removed, more like it had been torn off somehow. It was an ugly, twisted mess, but the Emissary didn’t let his curiosity remain. He had a job to do.

He smiled wider, his cock stirring more insistently when the prisoner’s eyes opened and registered his presence. The Emissary ordered the two guards who had accompanied him through the facility to leave. The prisoner failed to suppress his flinch when the door banged loudly closed behind them. The Emissary smiled even wider, slowly reaching down to adjust his erection behind his black fatigues.

He was good at what he did because he _liked_ what he did.

The prisoner’s eyes widened slightly as he thought he understood what the Emissary wanted. Then, they narrowed into slits as his jaw set. The Emissary was pleased. There was nothing better than breaking down a fighter. He moved closer to his victim until he was standing directly in front of him looking up into his face. The prisoner would be a centimeter or two taller than the Emissary, even without being forced up on tiptoe.

“You’re American, yes?”

The Emissary spoke perfect English without a trace of any accent. He already knew the answers to his questions. He wanted the prisoner to think about his home. Nostalgia was its own special kind of pain. Nostalgia for a place he’d never see again and for the people he’d left there.

“From New York City?”

He studied the prisoner’s face. He had requested that the prisoner be cleaned, inside and out, before his arrival. The prisoner’s dark hair was shaggy and unkempt, but his face had been recently shaved. Only a shadow of stubble remained on his cheeks and chin.

“Brooklyn?”

He was haggard, but the Emissary couldn’t think of another word but pretty for the prisoner’s face. His erection pulsed, and the Emissary felt a rush of hatred for the prisoner. He hated his blue eyes, his round cheeks, and how full his lips were. He hated the effect the prisoner had on him, when _he_ was the one who should be in control.

The Emissary knew how to change that.

“Don’t feel like talking,” He sneered up at the prisoner. “Or did you lose your tongue as well as your arm?”

The prisoner’s lips opened.

“James Barnes,” he croaked out his name. “Sergeant. 325- ”

The Emissary brought his knee up swiftly between the prisoner’s legs. His aim was long practiced and perfected. The first strike he made to land up and behind his victim’s balls, swinging them violently forward rather than crushing them against the body. The rest of the prisoner’s serial number was lost in a shuddering intake of breath. His eyes bulged comically and his lips made a little “o” of surprise.

“Aaagh, _fuck!”_

The prisoner bellowed, breath and voice returning as he tried to curl in on himself. His legs strained to close, and both his good arm and his stump twitched to cradle and protect his balls. The Emissary laughed once, pressing down on his insistent cock and shivering from the pleasure. The prisoner’s eyes found his. They were clouded with involuntary tears. He swore one more time in a trembling whimper before he forcefully clenched his lips together. He breathed heavily through his nose.

“You have no name,” the Emissary told him calmly. “You have no rank. You have no number. You are an asset of Hydra now, and we will tell you who and what you are.”

He saw the prisoner’s internal struggle in his face. There was fear in his eyes and his nostrils flared. Pain was still radiating from between his legs into his belly and his brain. He didn’t want any more of that pain.

“J-James Barnes- ”

The prisoner’s voice cracked and shook. He was at war with himself as much as with the Emissary or with Hydra, and this was the Emissary’s favorite part of the whole thing. How a man’s stubbornness and pride could betray his instincts for self-preservation. How his very manhood could jeopardize itself. The Emissary didn’t know why he found that so arousing, but he did.

The Emissary brought his knee up and struck his targets three times in quick succession, putting more power into the blows as they progressed. The final blow pushed the prisoner’s balls against his body, cutting off the man’s tortured scream as it forced the meager contents of his stomach to expel from his mouth. The Emissary had already stepped away so none of the vomit would splash on him.

“Aaagh, fuck, oh God!”

The prisoner screamed. The muscles of his arm and legs flexed and spasmed, trying desperately to stop the unacceptable pain. He was crying, the tears involuntarily wrenched from his eyes by the heaves of his body. Snot and vomit dribbled down, the mixture hanging languorously from his chin before it dropped to the stone floor between his feet. Not so pretty now. The Emissary smirked and moved back in front of the prisoner.

“I don’t know if you’ve been keeping track, but you’ve been our prisoner for almost a year now.”

The prisoner coughed and sputtered. He closed his eyes, squeezing more tears down his face.

“Look at me.”

The prisoner shuddered, but he didn’t comply. The Emissary laughed and brought his knee up, only once, but with as much force as he could. The prisoner’s eyes bulged open. He shrieked, a high-pitched wail of agony, and writhed helplessly in his bonds. The Emissary nearly came in his pants.

“They bring me in when they’ve tried and failed to break a man with everything else.”

The prisoner’s eyes refocused on the Emissary’s. There was pain there, and fear, but the Emissary could still see that undercurrent of defiance. It was both infuriating and arousing. He’d almost be sad when this one was finally broken.

“Do you know why?”

The prisoner spat at his feet.

“S-serge-geant,” he picked up his mantra where he’d left off before. “3-32- ”

He knew what to expect now, and he moaned with dread as he saw the Emissary’s leg lifting toward his aching balls. His body futilely tried to twist away. The Emissary struck the prisoner’s sac five times at the same velocity. Lighter blows than before, striking the abused organs up and forward. He didn’t want the prisoner passing out.

“I suspect you’re beginning to understand why,” the Emissary commented loudly over the man’s gasping screams. “As I suspect you know how to make this stop.”

A thin stream of piss splashed from the prisoner’s limp cock and joined the puddle of his other bodily fluids. The Emissary sneered.

“Disgusting.”

“Oh, oh god, wh-why?”

The prisoner was sobbing now, his eyes downcast. The Emissary didn’t know if he was talking to him or not.

“Why what?”

The prisoner bit his lip and shook his head, eyes remaining on the floor.

“You have no one to blame for this but yourself, you know.”

The Emissary kneed him again. The prisoner’s corresponding scream was raspier.

“I don’t know how much more your balls can take,” he commented. “It would be a shame if I were forced to break them completely.”

The prisoner sagged in his chains, wheezing for air. Fear flashed in his eyes at the Emissary’s warning.

“Y-you wouldn’t,” he croaked, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “You- you want me to- to be a soldier for you.”

The Emissary suppressed his satisfaction that he’d gotten the prisoner to converse with him.

“Yes, and?”

“You don’t want- you need- _**I** need_ my balls to be a soldier!”

The prisoner’s face was a mess, but underneath the crust of snot and vomit the Emissary could see the scared little boy. Such a pretty little boy.

“Wrong,” the Emissary said. _“You_ don’t need anything to be our soldier. _We_ only need your mind. Your sex is inconsequential to us. A liability, even.”

He brought his leg suddenly up into the prisoner’s groin. The prisoner needed to know how inconsequential he was, and, besides, the Emissary loved the look of shocked agony the prisoner made when he wasn’t expecting the blow. The prisoner didn’t disappoint. The Emissary’s cock had been softening a little, but the blood roared back to it.

“Aaagh, no, please! Please no more!”

The Emissary loved the way this prisoner begged.

“There will be no more when I’ve decided you’ve had enough,” the Emissary told him. “And you’re the one who has to convince me of that.”

“No, no I can’t- ” the prisoner shook his head wildly. “I can’t- ”

“We can start simply. Hail, Hydra.”

The prisoner looked at him as he made the salute. Rage and anguish flickered in his eyes.

“32557038,” the numbers rushed from his lips so he could finish them before he needed to take another gasping breath. “James Barnes. Serge- ”

The Emissary sighed dramatically. He kneed the prisoner ten times at full strength. The prisoner’s voice went so high that it cracked on the third strike. He screamed silently until the seventh strike, when he heaved bile from his throat. It struck the Emissary in the chest. He was too libidinous to care.

“They’re really swelling up. They might already be goners.”

“Oh, fuck! H-hail- Hail, Hydra! Fuck, fuck _stop!”_

The Emissary kneed him once. The prisoner’s body seized, then hung slack.

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

The prisoner opened his mouth but only babbled a string of incomprehensible noises before he closed it again. He hung from his chains, drooling as his body was wracked with little spasms of pain. There was a spot of precome soaking the front of the Emissary’s fatigues.

“Good, though. The first hail is always the hardest for men like you.”

The Emissary reached out and took the prisoner’s swollen sac into his hand. A gentle caress, but painful to the prisoner. He groaned piteously and began to sob again.

“N-no- please, no- ”

The Emissary rolled the prisoner’s balls in his hand. He could feel them pulsing, trying to retract from his touch, which meant they were still alive. He grinned.

“They’ve tortured you in all manner of ways, haven’t they? But not like this. No, most men don’t have the stomach for this. It was like that in the Middle Ages. All manner of horrific devices, and they would easily shove them down a woman’s throat or up her cunt, but they wouldn’t touch a man’s manhood.”

He pressed down on his cock, relishing the pleasure that sparked through him. So close, but not yet. Not yet.

“I’m not like most men.”

The Emissary released the prisoner’s sac.

“Who do you belong to? Who do you serve?”

“No,” the prisoner moaned. “No, I can’t. Please don’t.”

A little boy, begging to keep his favorite toy.

“Hail,” the Emissary said, drawing the word out for two syllables to give the prisoner a chance to join. “Come on, you’ve already done it. Hail- ”

“Please,” the prisoner whispered. “Please don’t.”

The Emissary did, crushing the prisoner’s balls against his pelvis. The prisoner retched, but he had nothing left to vomit. He whined like a dog, tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked like he was going into shock.

“Say it.”

“Hail- ” the prisoner choked on his sob. “Hail, Hydra.”

His voice was detached and defeated.

“Good.”

The Emissary was so close. He reached up to brush the hair away from the prisoner’s sweating forehead. The prisoner didn’t respond.

“One more time for me.”

“Hail, Hydra.”

The prisoner didn’t hesitate. The Emissary was proud of himself. Proud, but sad, too. This one had been particularly fun. The Emissary took the prisoner’s balls in his hand again, wanting to verify what he already suspected. The sac was cooler. He could tell that the organs inside were dead. Another exemplary specimen of manhood brought down by his own stubborn pride.

The Emissary allowed the wave of pleasure to take him over the edge. He shuddered through his orgasm, loving how good it felt without needing to be touched. Loving the dead testicles he was squeezing, and even loving their former owner. He couldn’t hate the prisoner anymore. The prisoner was pathetic. Pitiable. Broken.

“You should have said it sooner,” he told the prisoner once he’d regained his faculties. “Your balls are dead.”

“No,” the prisoner shook his drooping head. “No, you’re lying.”

The Emissary dropped the prisoner’s balls. He brought his knee up, but stopped before he made contact with the engorged sac. The prisoner let out a broken scream reflexively, and the Emissary laughed at him.

“I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll do whatever you want! Oh god, please- Hail, Hydra. Hail, Hydra!”

The Emissary laughed harder and turned his back on the prisoner.

“Goodbye, my pretty little eunuch. The doctor will be in soon to remove the dead flesh from between your legs.”

“No! No, it’s not dead- they’re not- I _need_ them to- Hail, Hydra! Hail, Hydra!”

He cried out his new mantra like a prayer. Like Hydra would hear and deliver him from the fate they had orchestrated for him. The Emissary headed for the door as the prisoner’s hails began to break into gasping sobs. He could feel the room’s cloying heat for the first time, and he wanted to be out of it.

“Well?”

One of the guards asked him in German once he was in the welcome chill of the corridor.

“Tell the commander his asset is ready for him,” the Emissary spoke perfect German without a trace of any accent. “And make sure a doctor attends to _it_ soon. Its testicles are dead and need to be removed as quickly as possible.”

“Ugh,” the guard shuddered with horror and his lip curled in disgust. “Alright, I will do as you say.”

“Hail, Hydra.”

The guards returned the Emissary’s salute with far less passion than the newly broken prisoner. That thought made the Emissary smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired not only by my kinks for castration and ball busting, but by a memory from a "Museum of Torture" I visited in Prague about a decade ago. There was some cool, interesting stuff, but there was a sign (around the Pear of Anguish that the Emissary references in this story) about how even for inquisitors cocks and balls were considered off-limits. Throats, vaginas, even the asses of "sodomites", but no CBT of any kind.
> 
> Naturally, I was a bit disappointed.
> 
> Also, [this NSFW fanart](https://www.redbubble.com/de/people/randymeeks/works/25940630-the-end-of-the-line?SSAID=389818&asc=u&utm_campaign=banner&utm_medium=affiliates&utm_source=shareasale) is what the OP cited as an inspiration for their prompt.


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